by SM Reine
He was streaming a news report. Deirdre only glimpsed January Lazar’s familiar face before it cut to a different familiar face—one with a square jaw and the hint of a glittering scale pattern marking the side of his muscled neck.
Melchior’s smile heart-shatteringly perfect. He was a deadly man, rendered so much deadlier by the way that he made Deirdre’s heart race.
“Why aren’t I on the ballot for Alpha? I am the shifter mate to the queen of the unseelie. I have the Alpha power of control over other shifters. But the Office of Preternatural Affairs has refused to allow me to take the oath.” He had the same magnetic charm that Stark did when he was being filmed. It felt like he was speaking directly to Deirdre.
The camera cut away to an image of the Summer Court. The image was blurred and distorted, since the magic in the Middle Worlds was so strong. It must have taken powerful wards to permit a camera to work there at all.
But they had gotten a clear shot of the seelie sidhe ladies with Secretary Friederling. The news had blurred the picture, but it was obvious that the politician was having sex with them.
“Holy crap,” Geoff said. “Nice.”
Ember looked horrified. “Are you kidding? The secretary of the OPA is taking sexual favors from the sidhe!”
Deirdre’s hands lifted to her mouth. “Oh gods.” What was it going to show next? Rylie getting a foot rub? Deirdre hanging out with the Summer Court?
It would make it look like everyone was conspiring against the unseelie.
The election would be ruined.
Yet Deirdre wasn’t shown. The image cut back to Melchior’s wounded visage. “The unseelie should be candidates for the Alpha position, but Rylie Gresham won’t let us participate. The OPA is in the pocket of the seelie. This election for Alpha is a show and nothing more.”
“Is he right?” Ember was speaking to Deirdre directly, giving her that look she knew all too well. The one that people got when their hopes were crushed into a fine powder.
“This is part of his ploy to cause riots,” Deirdre said. “They’re just trying to destabilize the election.”
Ember turned off the tablet. “How do you know? Stark hasn’t taken the oath, he’s not involved in the talks. We don’t know anything! Maybe Melchior is right.”
The heavy silence of night snapped.
Glass shattered blocks away. Something heavy thudded.
Fire glowed around the corner.
“The riots,” Ember said.
Deirdre tried to mentally map where those sounds had originated from. She might have been paranoid, but she thought it might be the elementary school where the Gaean Citizens for Democracy had set up the local polling station.
The lobby opened. Stark stormed out, dragging Niamh behind him. Blood was smeared down the side of her neck and all the way across her shoulder.
He held the remnants of the harpy skin in his other fist.
“She’s told us where to find a ley line juncture that will take us directly into the Winter Court,” Stark said. “We’re leaving, Beta.”
“Melchior just made an announcement. He’s telling everyone the election is fake,” Deirdre said.
“It is fake.” Vampires poured out onto the sidewalk behind him—vampires and Alphas and all their other random allies.
Deirdre couldn’t disobey him. She couldn’t even argue with him while those people were watching. She clenched her hands into fists, squeezing so hard that her fingernails cut into her palms.
Geoff gestured vaguely at the burning city. “But the queen,” he said. “Who’s going to save the unseelie queen?”
Another thump.
This time, glass shattered all along the street, bursting from every window between the bodega and the condemned laundromat five doors down.
An instant later, people came racing around the corner. They were shouting indistinctly. Throwing things. Breaking more windows, jumping on cars, howling their rage into the night.
They were definitely coming from the direction of the polling station now.
“Damn it,” Deirdre swore.
She broke into a run. It was hard to tell how many of the people emerging on the street were vampires and how many were shifters. In the darkness, their preternatural grace all looked the same to her.
There were mortals among them, though. Mundane humans.
Soon to be collateral damage.
“Fraud!” someone shouted behind Deirdre.
A bottle pinwheeled past her head, its wick etching spirals of smoke into the air. The Molotov cocktail smashed through the broken window to her left. The bodega caught instantly. All the paper charms hanging on the inside wall lit up first, even faster than Niamh’s feathers had upon contacting Deirdre’s flame.
The shouting down the street grew.
She twisted to see one of the vampire-occupied tenements emptying out. All those people who lived in public housing, just dumping out onto the streets, racing away and screaming.
They couldn’t have all seen Melchior’s announcement—could they?
Thump.
The top three floors of the tenement erupted. Columnar fists of white-hot flame punched out of the windows, gushing black smoke and sizzling with hints of green.
Magic.
To be specific, sidhe magic.
When the fire hit the surrounding buildings, the walls didn’t catch fire. They warped. Brick and metal bowed, glimmering with gem colors.
“Is this an attack against us?” Ember asked. He was breathing hard, struggling to keep up with Deirdre as she ran toward the tenement.
“I don’t think so,” Deirdre said. It was only coincidence that Stark was currently holed up in the gaean neighborhood.
Sidhe magic was still spreading down the building floor by floor, lighting up the windows. Even under the hum of magic and shattering of glass, Deirdre could hear screaming.
But Stark’s allies were just standing around almost a block away, gaping uselessly at the explosions.
“What are you waiting for?” Deirdre shouted, thrusting a finger toward the building. “Get in there! Get people out!”
They didn’t move.
Their motionlessness filled her with enough anger that she should have spontaneously combusted. She clenched her fists. Tension radiated through her spine.
“Why?” Geoff asked. He’d stopped a few feet behind Ember Bane, joint smoldering between his forefinger and thumb. “This isn’t what we do.”
“Are you kidding? This entire war isn’t about becoming Alpha for fun. It’s because Rylie Gresham is the wrong leader, and so is Melchior. It’s because Stark knows what’s best for everyone. It’s because we’re trying to save lives. So get in there and save people!”
“You heard her,” Ember muttered. He took the joint from Geoff and flicked it to the pavement.
They jogged toward the burning tenement.
Stark tossed Niamh to Deirdre’s feet. “Why are you ordering my people to risk their lives for this?”
“Think of the people in that tenement like horses,” she said, softly enough that nobody would be able to hear her but Stark.
His mouth twitched. “I want the shifters to recover as many people from that building as possible.” Stark didn’t have to raise his voice for everyone to hear him. He was using the power of compulsion to insert the words directly into the minds of his pack.
That got them moving.
He turned to the vampires. “Spread out. Stop the riots. But stay out of the buildings—you’re too flammable.”
Deirdre opened her mouth to thank Stark, but he was already hurtling into the burning tenement. He was first through the doorway, plunging into the smoke and magic with no fear that it could hurt him.
If anyone could avoid injury through sheer stubbornness, it would be Everton Stark.
But it wasn’t going to be enough. Stark had a lot of followers, sure, but the packs that had come to the high-rise were numbered in the single digits. The vampires could only do so mu
ch. And Rhiannon surely would have left other unpleasant presents around the city to help sentiments turn in her favor.
They needed reinforcements.
The nearest bank of pay phones was at a bus station a block up. Deirdre needed to run opposite the flow of foot traffic to get there, pushed and battered by fleeing bodies. Nobody seemed to be looking where they were going.
Two of the phones were broken. Their severed, frayed cords dangled toward the sidewalk. The third functioned.
Deirdre punched a phone number into the pay phone. Rylie answered on the first ring.
“I know,” the Alpha said immediately. “I saw Melchior’s statement.”
“What are we going to do?” Deirdre hissed into the receiver, glancing over her shoulder. She had a small audience across the street. Judging by the deathly pale skin and awed looks, they were an audience of the vampiric persuasion—people who would surely report her location to Lucifer.
“I’m not sure. We can discuss it,” Rylie said. “Look up.”
Deirdre did.
And then she nearly dropped the phone’s receiver.
The airship was hovering overhead, circled by black helicopters with the OPA insignia.
She fumbled to put the phone back to her ear. “How did you find me?”
“You wouldn’t like the answer,” Rylie said, which meant it involved OPA surveillance. “Can you reach me?”
Deirdre’s gaze skimmed up the side of the nearest building. In her mind, she plotted the route: the way she would jump from window to window, the wall crawl up the bricks, the leap of faith she’d need to take to reach that fire escape.
“Gimme two minutes,” Deirdre said.
Then she hung up and began to climb.
The marks of Kristian’s attack remained on Rylie’s airship. Deirdre dug her fingers into the scores on the deck left by his sword in order to haul her body over the edge. The envelope had been patched as well, but it was easy to see where the holes had been once Deirdre was on board.
Accordingly, the security on the dirigible had been more than tripled since Deirdre’s previous flight. Secretary Friederling stood among the numerous OPA agents, talking on his phone. These agents weren’t merely armed mundanes, though. There were several battle witches among them. They were the best-trained and deadliest of the OPA’s employees. Deirdre had seen them melt shifters into puddles before.
Rylie waited for Deirdre in the doorway, dress whipped around her legs by the blasting of the wet wind.
“The OPA needs to stop this.” Deirdre pointed at the magical fires, which were eerily beautiful from above.
“We’re already on it.” Rylie nodded toward the OPA secretary. “Fritz is rolling out damage control.”
“Rhiannon will be causing mayhem all over the country,” Deirdre said. “Melchior hops ley lines like I skip cracks on sidewalks to save my dead mama’s back. He could do this all over the world if he wanted. What the hell are we going to do?”
“Having Melchior take the oath would be the fastest way to stop the riots,” Rylie said.
“And have the seelie go to war against the rest of us!”
“They’re a single faction, and Melchior’s whipped all the other factions into a frenzy. A lot more people could die from rioting.”
“But what if you let Melchior run and he wins? He and Rhiannon would be bad for gaeans. Really bad. Eternal winter kind of bad.”
“Riots are bad for gaeans too. They’re also terrible for collateral damage among the mundane population I’m meant to protect.” Secretary Friederling turned off his phone and sauntered over. It was frustrating how calm he seemed about this, like he didn’t really care who won the election.
“What is wrong with you?” Deirdre snapped. “Don’t you want to make sure that the Alpha is someone who will actually take care of his people?”
“I’ve been attempting to keep mundane humans from getting devoured by preternaturals for years, long before someone pressed the reset button using Genesis. I’ve seen what gaeans are like without an Alpha. It doesn’t matter who’s in control. My job will never be easier, no matter who’s acting as figurehead for you people.”
“You’ve got a lot in common with Stark.”
“There’s a big difference between us,” Friederling said.
“Oh? And what do you think that is?”
“A net worth of approximately a billion dollars and the good will of the President of the United States.” He checked his watch. “Our trajectory should put us over Original Sin in ten minutes.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “Why are you going there?”
“That’s where the unseelie queen is being held. Why do you look so surprised? Do you think our intelligence is so primitive that we can’t find the most powerful sidhe on American soil? The energy levels radiating from there are unmistakable.” Stink lines of arrogance practically radiated off of him. “And it’s your lucky day, Ms. Tombs, because I’ve decided to send you into Original Sin to rescue the unseelie queen rather than arrest you.”
“You’ve what? You think I’m going to save her? You’re the one with an army and drones and crap like that,” Deirdre said.
“Yes, but none of my people or Friederling’s can engage the unseelie sidhe,” Rylie said. “With Marion’s oath, we can’t take violent action against competitors before the election.”
“Rhiannon and Melchior aren’t your competitors. They aren’t the queen and Alpha mate of the Winter Court!”
“They will be if they kill Ofelia. They might have already killed her. If we busted into Original Sin…” She sighed. “It could ruin everything we’re working for, Deirdre.”
“I’m with Stark,” Deirdre said. “I’m a competitor, too.”
“He’s been public about his refusal to take the oath. Until that changes, you can take action.”
“You bitch,” she said softly.
Rylie didn’t try to argue, but the fact that she absorbed the anger so calmly only made Deirdre angrier.
“It’s so fucking convenient,” Deirdre spat. “How you keep finding ways to stay safe where you are, while I’m out there risking my life, and the lives of my friends, to further your agenda. How many people have died for your causes while you’ve sat back and watched the bodies fall? How many people have trusted you, loved you, and then died for you?”
“Are you done?” she asked.
“No,” Deirdre said. But she didn’t actually have anything else to say. It was hard to fight with someone who didn’t fight back. “You’re so screwed up, you blowhard Alpha bureaucrat.”
Rylie moved to the railing, motions stiff, as though someone had cranked up the tightness on her muscles. The OPA agents parted to allow her to pass. “I have never asked anyone to do something for me that I wouldn’t do myself.”
“Then do this yourself,” Deirdre said. “Prove to me you aren’t a giant waste of oxygen.”
Friederling snorted with laughter. “Prove herself? To you? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the person you think is going to get the unseelie queen instead of killing every last one of you,” Deirdre said.
“We can find an alternative to rescue Ofelia if you refuse. But consider what’s in your best interests. This delays your tenure in prison, after all.” The secretary yawned. He actually yawned. “Up to you.”
Rylie didn’t look much more impressed. She studied her fingernails. No, not fingernails—she had grown silver claws. She looked at them like she was checking to see if her manicure had dried yet, not like she was threatening Deirdre.
But the implication was clear. She wouldn’t be flashing claw unless she wanted it to be known that she could.
Deirdre took a step back and almost bumped into an agent.
There was nowhere for her to go.
She was outnumbered. Outgunned.
And Rylie didn’t look happy.
“Are you threatening to hurt me?” Deirdre asked.
“I don’t typically resort
to threats of physical violence,” Rylie said. “I don’t have to threaten because none of my challengers have been able to beat me yet. Please remember that when you talk to me. People don’t give me respect to be nice. I’ve earned it, and I deserve it.”
“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” Deirdre said.
“Would you feel better if I hit you? Should I slap you a few times, break your back, shred your throat?”
“Inflicting pain wouldn’t make you powerful.”
“But it seems like that’s what you respect, Deirdre.” The claws slid back into her hands with a faint wet noise.
Even Stark didn’t show that level of self-control over his selective shifting.
Deirdre was cornered again. Save Ofelia, and save the election, or face vengeance at the end of Rylie’s claws—or even worse.
Her eyes stung. “I’ll get the queen,” Deirdre said. “Not for you. For the election. For the people.”
“Bogey at seven o’clock!” someone shouted.
Two OPA agents grabbed Secretary Friederling and half-carried him to the doorway of the dirigible, getting him off the exposed deck. Deirdre turned into the buffeting smoke to search for what the other agents had seen.
A body appeared in the sky, sweeping toward them with preternatural grace. It wasn’t another airborne vehicle. It was a woman, lean and muscular, with wings like razorblades.
Vidya.
She penetrated the wards effortlessly and struck the deck before the agents could even aim.
“Don’t shoot.” Rylie’s voice carried over the deck, and in its wake, Deirdre heard the rub of cloth on metal. The OPA guards were lowering their weapons. Obedient to the Alpha. Friederling might not have had much regard for Rylie’s station, but his people did.
Deirdre turned. Vidya was waiting with arms folded and eyebrow lifted, looking annoyed.
“I can’t protect you if you run off like that,” Vidya said.
She laughed weakly. “You’re alive.” She took a step toward the valkyrie, but hesitated. Deirdre wanted to hug Vidya. But they’d never hugged before, and she had no idea if it was okay to touch her like that. They didn’t have that kind of friendship. “You’re the one who showed up half-dead on the rooftops. I don’t need to be protected.”